


ticket to ride

by mettaverse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mettaverse/pseuds/mettaverse
Summary: The officer raises his hand. “You were going thirty miles over the speed limit for a date?” Lance opens his mouth and the officer lowers his sunglasses just to glare at him. “Sixty in a thirty lane. You know how fast that is?”“Um. Fast? Pretty fast?”“Dangerously fast.” He pulls a pad of paper out of his pocket. “I'm gonna have to give you a ticket.”





	ticket to ride

**Author's Note:**

> super late valentines day exchange!

Lance didn't even _wanna_ go.

And that's a first- Lance Mcclain, lover of Nicholas Sparks books, obscene crier in the movie theaters showing Disney movies not wanting to go on a _date?_ He glances up at the sky- is it falling yet?

But college is hard. Harder than he anticipated. He's smart, good at what he does, but fuck, he was expecting pretty girls and boys ripe for the picking. Annalise Keating as his professor. Picnics on the campus under big, spiralling trees, peach juice on his fingers and the sun warming everything around him.

Unfortunately, his professors are dicks, the trees are dying because for some fucking reason winter decided to stick around just to _piss him off,_ and his friends are so busy they only sit down when they have a mental break. Which is happening, like, a lot. Too much. They only sleep after passing out, which is probably unhealthy. When was the last time he got some sleep, anyway? The reflection in his rear view mirror tells him way too long ago and he winces- those bags are unattractive. Is he breaking out? He squints. A barely noticeable bump is nestled in between his chin and bottom lip. _Why does God hate me?_

The only reason he accepted this blind date was because Pidge threatened bodily harm if he didn't. _“I swear to God, Lance Mc_ _c_ _lain, I will make you eat your own testicles if you let me down.”_ Which actually sends phantom pains to his groin. Apparently this family friend was important to her, so, yeah, he can try to put on a good show.

Which he isn't. He's late. He's fucking late and he doesn't even have the guy's number to text him. He's an asshole. It's not his fault he slept late though! Studying isn't his strong suit, especially at night when he wants to curl up on his shitty bed and _die._

He may or may not be going over the speed limit. A little. Cupid would approve of him slamming the gas pedal- it's for love, of course. He'll get to the date, put on his best smile, and say something sly, something heart warming, groin tickling. Something like-

Lights flash from behind him. He turns over his shoulder.

A cop.

Of course. Of fucking course.

He pulls over to the side of the road, pulls down his window, and waits. Can he use this excuse on his date? _Sorry I'm amazingly, stupidly late, but an angry, evil, vindictive police officer decided he hates me._ He can change the “cop” part to “evil wizard” or some shit like that. More cool.

Said evil, vindictive police officer comes over. He has sunglasses and a hat on, but Lance can still see the scar on his nose. His jaw is strong and could probably cut through glass. And he's _not_ happy, not at all.

“You have any idea why I pulled you over?” His voice is low and rumbling and sets something off in Lance's chest.

Lance smiles his best, slickest smile. “I have no idea-”

“You were going 30 miles over the speed limit.”

Oh. Oops. He doesn't really look at how fast he goes. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “Well, I have a perfectly good reason for that, officer! See, I have a date-”

The officer raises his hand. “You were going _thirty miles_ over the speed limit for a _date?”_ Lance opens his mouth and the officer lowers his sunglasses just to glare at him. “Sixty in a thirty lane. You know how fast that is?”

“Um. Fast? Pretty fast?”

“ _Dangerously_ fast.” He pulls a pad of paper out of his pocket. “I'm gonna have to give you a ticket.”

Lance's heart drops. “Wait, hold on, let's not do anything _rash._ See, I'm a college student, dude. I'm poor. I eat ramen noodles three times a day. I think I'm getting rickets. Can't you let me, a scholar, a young man perusing knowledge, off with a warning?”

“No. You could've killed someone, kid. Someone crossing the street would've been dead. And if you hit another car, I guarantee this hunk of junk-” he knocks on said hunk of junk just to make his point “-wouldn't survive. And neither would you. So no warning.” He rips off the paper and hands it over. “Gotta learn a lesson.”

The paper is the devil. No, the _spawn_ of the devil, because the devil is standing there, replicating Michelangelo’s David in a blue outfit. He stares at the ticket. “I can't afford this.”

Devil police man shrugs. “Better to have a ticket than have jail time for manslaughter.” He raises his hand. “Drive safer.” And that's it. He leaves, gets in his _carriage of evil_ , and drives off like he didn't just give Lance a 300 dollar ticket. 

He's gonna have to beg his mama for money. Oh God. She's gonna whoop his ass and it's all this _dickhead's fault._

Lance rolls up the window. Puts his head against his wheel and screams.

* * *

 

He walks into the cafe with the grace of a man straight out of war. If someone smelt him they'd probably catch a whiff of gunfire, smoke, blood, and pure and utter hatred for the police. Fuck the police. The songs were right- they all _suck,_ even if one in particular has an ass shaped by the Gods.

Lance's date should be wearing a black sweater with purple stripes. His main identifier, though, is a streak of white hair which is either really edgy or beautiful, he can't tell yet. What the fuck is he gonna tell him, anyway? _Sorry I'm late, but the_ _Devil himself_ _decided to ascend just to torture me and only me. Do you want a coffee?_

There- he sees someone's back wearing a black sweater with purple stripes. He's built, the back of his head shaved, and if he goes on his tippy toes he can see the beginning of his white streak. “Hey!” he calls.

And that's when it happens.

His date, full of potential and beauty, turns around to reveal he's the devil himself. The beautiful, gorgeous, _evil spawn of Satan._ Their eyes meet and there's recognition immediately in those stupidly stunning grey eyes of his. _“You.”_

Lance stomps over. “You. Asshole!” He jabs a finger in his apparently _marble chest._ “You gave me a ticket!”

The devil- Adonis- man raises his hands. “You were going over the speed limit.”

“Yeah, to get to you! I risked my life to get here. You should feel _honored.”_ He rips the crumpled ticket out of his pocket. “I have finals. I have so much studying to do I feel like my head is gonna _explode._ My shoes actually have holes in them, dude! My beautiful feet are cold! Freezing! So listen here, Officer Asshole-”

“Shiro.”

Lance blinks. “What?”

Officer Asshole pulls out a seat and gently guides Lance into it. His hand on Lance's lower back is warm and big and Jesus Christ makes Lance think of so, so many things involving those hands on his body. “Officer Takashi Shirogane.” Shiro settles in the seat across from Lance and smiles. “But you can call me Shiro. Do you wanna order?”

 _What the fuck._ “Uh. Obviously.” He gets a pretty waitresses' attention and does not flirt with her, which, gold star for Lance because she's _really cute_ and less liable to give him a fucking _ticket._ He does smile, though, because he's nothing short of a charmer, as he orders his hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. He catches the look Shiro's throwing him. “Hey, that's the only way to get it. Go big or go home, man.”

Shiro laughs, deep and warm, like freshly brewed black coffee. “I'm not saying anything.”

“So if you _did_ say something it'd be amazingly offensive to my hot cocoa?”

That laugh again. “I plead the fifth! I know my rights!”

The hot cocoa is placed infront of Lance and he pretends that's the reason why his face is so warm- it's just the steam, he swears. Not the smile. Not the laugh. Nu uh. “What was I saying?”

“How terrible I am and how awful college is.”

“Oh! Right.” He leans in, eyes fierce and hot. “So, imagine this. Beautiful, gorgeous, talented me is struggling through life because life gives the hard shit to the people who can take it, right? And I can absolutely take it. But fucking listen. _Listen._ You know how hard it is to do finals week and work at the same time? Real hard. Amazingly hard.” He takes a sip of his hot cocoa. “And then my dickhead lab partner- wow this is really good- he just doesn’t do _any of the work_ and- why are you laughing is there something on my face?”

Shiro leans over and with his thumb wipes away whipped cream on Lance's nose. “There you go.” He licks the whipped cream off the pad of his thumb and smiles. “Continue.” Lance stares dumbly. Is he alive? Did Shiro kill him? _Can I sue him for that? For killing me?_ Shiro chuckles. “What about your lab partner?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” He itches the back of his neck and clears his throat. “So, fuckin' Lubos. Now, there's only one person I hate more in that class and that's Keith Kogane, but Lubos is climbing up that ladder like a fuckin' _snake.”_

That unnecessarily huge hand covers Shiro's mouth and Lance _swears_ he can see crinkles appearing next to those stupidly pretty eyes. “And what's wrong with this Keith Kogane? What'd he do?”

“Oh fucking everything, man! Listen, I _slaved_ to get the best score out of the class, okay? I worked my pretty ass off and this jerk who doesn't participate in class _at all_ gets the highest and just- what the fuck!”

“Maybe he just studied more?”

Lance points a finger at him. “Nu uh, no way. That guy doesn't do shit. I've never seen him bring a notebook to class _once.”_

Shiro hums and drums his fingers on the tabletop. “Yeah, that sounds like him. His memory's pretty photographic.”

Lance blinks. Shiro grins. “That's my little brother.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck. “I'd say I was sorry but-”

“It's fine. Really. Keith has that effect on people. He can't help it.”

Lance grins at him. “Like how you can't help but be insufferably handsome?”

And there's a blush that fans across Shiro's skin, bleeds into his scar like sunset. He opens his mouth and closes it. Several times. Lance smiles so big his face is gonna fall off but he doesn't _care._ “So,” he starts. “I yelled at you. In public. Made fun of you. Made fun of your brother. And you're still here buyin' me hot cocoa and taking me out on a date. What're your issues, man? What's your deal?”

Shiro takes a sip of his own coffee, takes a minute, and lets his Adam's apple _beg_ to be bitten. He shrugs and gives his own lopsided smile. “Well, you're having such an awful day. It wouldn't be nice to walk out on you on a date.”

“Oh, so this is a pity date?”

Shiro's smile drops. “Wait, no, shit, it's _not-_ I just meant, you know, I wouldn't hold being upset _against_ you. You're cute and um, you're funny, and- are you _laughing_ at me?”

Lance _is,_ barely able to suppress his snorts and giggles behind his hand. He's shaking, too. “Uh, totally not, nope, not at all. This- this is a symptom of my allergies. It's tragic.”

There's water being flicked at him and Lance squeals. “Hey, c'mon! I've had a real awful, horrible day-” Shiro throws a napkin at him. “-especially when this stupidly handsome cop came around-” ketchup packet to the face. “-and made me wanna kiss him so bad I almost _died.”_

Shiro's laughing so hard it makes his cheeks and nose red and it's such a _good look,_ such a good _noise_ , like waterfalls against stone. “Tell you what. I'll pay for that ticket if you go out on another date with me.”

Lance's heart skips a beat. He feels like he's in high school, getting the football captain's attention, only this is real, this is _happening._ “I'd do that even if you made me pay for the ticket and date, my dude.”

 

Shiro's hand covers Lance's and Lance doesn't even remember why he was upset this morning. Not at all.

 


End file.
